


The Man With No Name

by Hermonthis



Category: Storm Hawks
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Denial of Feelings, Drabble Collection, Experimental Style, F/M, Western
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 12,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4912228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermonthis/pseuds/Hermonthis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A letter. The cheapest hotel in a backwater desert dump. "Listen to me." / "No, you're drunk." An experimental story told in a series of vignettes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You weren't supposed to see me this way

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the summer of 2008 when I was inexplicably obsessed with western films. These scenarios were segments of an abandoned multi-chaptered story, and an excuse to play with canon. I was experimenting with different writing styles, specifically the use of jarring dialogue. There will be discontinuity and jumps in logic.
> 
> Sergio Leone's "The Dollars Trilogy" and Robert Rodriguez's "The Mariachi Trilogy" were major influences for this story.

_Three words scribbled on a crumpled napkin._

_Listen to me._

* * *

And he leans heavily against the table, a yellow-tinged drink in his hand that reminds her of piss, and grins at her, showing all of his pearly white teeth. She pushes back her chair, the rough wooden legs screech against the chipped hardwood floor, and places a hand on his shoulder.

Tries to lift him up. Sways unsteadily. A girl and a cheap drunk.

"How many have you had?" is answered with a delayed, "No, I'm not." And she rolls her eyes up at the ceiling where the mosquitoes and the heat gather together in a humid mass despite the slow-moving fan.

Does anything in this place work?

The bartender raises a hand. Rummaging through his pockets, she grabs a handful of notes and throws them on the counter for the older man to collect. He doesn't ask about the debt, just hands her the key.

She drags him up the stairs. He smells of dirt and sweat and she wrinkles her nose in disgust, ignoring the flippant, uncharacteristic comments that leave his lips and swirl around her ears. More flies.

"Say, you're pretty. Betcha boys line your door."

It means nothing. The words flow like five-cent wine. He is the worldwide traitor to Cyclonia, so logic doesn't really fall in his realm of thought.

"Ugh, I don't feel so well."

"The bathroom's down the hall."

Her boots go only so far as the bedside tabel before she drops the dead weight. Frowns when he hits the mattress like a body bag.

"How many of them know?"

"None."


	2. Are you my Carolina?

He snores. Mumbles in his sleep and twitches his eyes.

A deep sleeper, she adds.

Coveting a single high-backed chair in the corner, her back is ramrod straight as the girl tries to make the least amount of contact with anything in the room. Breathes through her nose to filter the foul air. Shudders.

Stork will never touch her again after this.

Sardonic eyes glare at the stranger sprawled out on the bed - flat on his stomach - and almost wishes he'd suffocate himself in the blanket.

Almost.

* * *

_Fancy meeting you here. Shouldn't you be with your team?_

A shrug of the shoulders. A flip of the hair.

_You sent me that letter... you wanted to talk to me._

His upper lip curls in a sneer when she won't take the bait. Hypocrite. Despite the five o'clock shadow etched on his face, his dental hygiene is still impeccable. A gloved hand gestures towards the seat across the table. The leather is faded and cracked.

_Want a drink? I assume you're old enough._

_Only with friends._

There is no need to pressure him, he will splinter in due time. He is like old wood, tarnished and trodden on so many times. She just needs the information he pretends to be privy to.

* * *

She wonders what he must have looked like the first time he came through the hotel doors. Proud? Vain? A rogue. His double-bladed sword hanging off his back, and his right hand twitchy, ready for a good fight.

Blinking to keep awake, the girl stifles a yawn and squints through the dusty blinds of the window. Still daylight. Bored with not much else to do, she plays games with herself.

Behind the dresser, sunlight glints off the neck of an old wine bottle, telling her much more than she needs to know.

How long has he been hiding here?


	3. Cruel morning

The first thing he does when he wakes up is throw up on the bed.

The second thing he does is open his bloodshot eyes. Rubs the back of his hand against his cracked lips and spits out something nasty. Calls her name.

_Piper?_

The chair is empty.

* * *

Grabbing him by the roots of his thick, black hair, she grits her teeth and dunks his head into the basin for the third time.

"GRRRRUUGHHH!"

Arms and legs thrashing wildly, he pushes against the porcelain sink, splashing water over the mirror and his careless hands spill some on the floor. Their boots skid against the linoleum, but she doesn't let go.

"Is this how you expect me to _trust you?_ " she shouts into his ear before drowning him again, "Did you think I would honestly believe a man who spends his life drinking?

She releases her hold and he throws his head back, mouth open, gasping for breath.

"Why do you insist on _wasting my time!_ "

* * *

Same room, different bedding. Actually, no bedding at all. The solitary housemaid is informed immediately. She hobbles around other rooms, a garbage bag in her hands. Poor aged thing.

But he is sitting in _her_ chair. And she is pacing in front of _him._

_"I'm not thanking you for waking me up."_

_"Sure, you're not."_

The girl is ninety-five percent sure she should have left hours ago and rubs her hands over her face furiously. Stupid, gullible Piper. Trusting Cyclonians left and right. Fool me once, fool me twice. 

She should close her heart more often; her compassion will only lead her to more trouble. 

Someone knocks on the door and his head, still sopping wet, shoots up in alarm. 

_"Don't open it. Don't you even dare."_

She snorts. _"Sure thing... why?"_

_"I owe a debt."_


	4. You dropped the Queen of Hearts

_When he closes his eyes, he can almost see her again._

_Then again, that only happens when he's dead drunk._

He leans his forehead against her shoulder, stumbles and holds her by the elbow. Such a sweet girl; too bad her heart is so big. He's seen it before, they're always the first thing to be broken.

Orange eyes, blue hair. He can tell she has only gone so far as to have her arteries pricked. Not with a needle, but a thumbtack. The kind that school kids use to pin their crayon drawings up on the classroom wall. Still innocent. Still unknowing.

_Blah blah blah._

The girl's mouth opens and closes. He giggles when he imagines her looking like a fish.

Pretty blue girl whips her hair and glares. He dares to put his dirty hand on her waist?!

Bastard.

_Blah blabbity blah._

C'mon little fishy. Come on, make my day.

"Take your hands off of me."

_Yes, that's it._

_"You say it the exact same way."_ A heavy cloud touches her neck. It's his breath. A mouth like hot sand from the dunes.

"The same way as what?"

Grins like a Cheschire cat with mood swings that Stork would avoid for a lifetime.

_If your skin was lighter, if your eyes were a different colour..._

Nonsense again. Brain all muddled-fuddled in his mind. The girl shakes her head in exasperation and reprimands his bad behaviour. At least he's not throwing up this time.

_"She was a sweetheart. Always told me to go to bed early --_

_\-- The only one who knew a good joke from the bad."_

Is it her imagination or did he just smell her neck? No, can't be.

_"You smile the exact same way."_

They stop. The mechanic shop lies ahead.

_"Are you listening to me, Piper?"_

Feels his hand squeeze around her most precious organ. Her heart. Feels it pumping hard and fast.

_"And I loved her."_


	5. The things that I've done

_"What did you do this time? How much do you owe?"_

Crimson eyes flash at her, his fingers jerk by his side. He's a dangerous, moody man.

_"Where do you think I got all the money to buy my booze?"_

* * *

It's like an action movie, the kind that Finn likes to watch on Saturday nights. Shooting imaginary bullets with his finger-guns, he goes _pew-pew!_ at all the bad guys on the movie screen when they come to collect the good guy's debt before knocking out the girl and taking her to the big boss.

But this ain't no cinema, honey. And the man in question? He ain't no hero.

"Where's my goddamn blade!" He yells as the door to his bedroom comes crashing down behind them. He peers around the corner, grabbing the back of his neck with a hand. Almost scared. Three burly-looking guys with tailored business suits and four spider-like legs spill into the hallway, polished clubs in their hands. Searching.

The Colonel's come to collect.

_Shit. Shit. SHIT!_

He panics. Hisses like a rattlesnake with venom spitting everywhere. _"My sword, woman! Where did you put it?"_ Flipping a lock of wet hair away from his face, he roughly pushes her out the bathroom window, onto the rusted metal fire escape and shoves her through the window of the next motel room. Ignores the pain when his knees slam against the floor.

"What did you do?" she cries, grabbing his hand as he overturns a desk table and crouches down behind it.

They shouldn't be shouting. It gives their position away.

_"They know I'm here."_

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. His boots stir up the dust bunnies on the floorboards when the spider arrive in this room. Plows his way through them, using the shoulder of the first man to launch himself into the air and over their heads. Smirks. Still graceful.

Skids into his now abandoned bedroom, loses his footing, and smashes his head against the metal frame when he gropes for his blade underneath the stinkin' bed.

Needs a Prairie Oyster.

The girl screams. They have her.


	6. Just Like Starting Over

**One.**

_Stop it woman! I don't need you to take care of me!_

_Shut up and close your mouth._

**Two.**

_What the hell do you think you're doing? And where are you going?_

_I hate you. You stink. You handed me over to those men over a cheap bottle of wine. You sold me to The Colonel to pay off your debt._

_But I got you back._

_Only because you wouldn't get any extra money out of it._

Splutters and grabs her arm to twist it around her back. But she's faster, and sober, and easily side-steps his clumsy moves with a kick that sends him tumbling back into the shower. 

**Three.**

She's not kidding. She'll do it for real. 

_No! Anything but that!_

Murder in her eyes. Hardly any trust in him at all. 

Bitch. 

Loser. 

Whore. 

Drunk. 

He lets loose a string of profanity as she pulls on the rope and the shower head explodes with a spray of the coldest, most brutal shower in the history of the world. 

It doesn't help when he has all his clothes on. 


	7. Seduction

He plays the guitar like nobody's business. It's almost enchanting, the way he bends over the neck of the instrument and closes his eyes as if he can hear the music screaming before his fingers touch the strings. Piper wonders if the guitar is a she, judging from the way he strokes the slender wooden body and lifts her gently from the black, velvet case.

Hard, calloused hands, rough from years of military and musical training, betray his agile swiftness as he tilts his ear towards the soundboard, listening to any whines of her distress as he tweaks the tuning heads to adjust her singing.

 _Hand me my tuning fork,_ he says and lays out his left palm impatiently. Flustered by his bluntness, Piper unzips the compartment and searches for the metal object.

 _Not there,_ he answers hotly, making her blush uncomfortably under his gaze, _It's in that little wooden box in the middle._

Her fingernail guides the latch to the side and the hatch opens. His hand is hot when Piper passes the tuning fork to him, and frowns when his red eyes barely spare a glance her way.

_How long have you been playing?_

For many years.

_Who taught you how to play?_

Myself.

_Will you play something for me?_

Dark Ace shifts his entire body thirty degrees to the left, the acoustic guitar safe between his knees, and unsettles her with an _'I just swallowed a canary'_ -like grin.

Rapping the tuning fork against his knee, the metal prongs whine loudly as he places it against the body of the guitar and adjusts the strings accordingly. Under his direction the instrument starts to sing beautifully. The girl stares in amazement as the man guides the music with just his fingers, his dark face deep in concentration, and plays the first ten bars of _Malaguena._


	8. On the Run

They walked into the bar just like Hollywood.

 _So much for flying under the radar,_ she thought, _I bet this place is crawling with bounty hunters with a poster of his face on their walls._

Hanging back half a pace behind, Piper tried to stay in the Dark Ace's shadow as the older man swaggered towards the bartender-slash-motel owner, and without preamble, immediately asked for the keys to the best room.

"This your wife?" the bearded man asked, wiping the inside of a shot glass with a clean cloth. Rolling his eyes over the back wall, the ex-Talon was glad to see their liquor collection was better stocked than his own. "Sweet thing looks out of place with the rest of us."

The girl played along as they turned around the corner, and he unlocked the door to their honeymoon suite, still hating the act. Giving a little chivalrous bow before ushering her in, she adjusted the sleeves of her disguise and desperately hoped to find some better clothes lying around. It unnerved her when the men stared at the top part of her exposed back.

"Happy anniversary." Beating her to the bed, he threw himself backwards on the sheets and blew out some air. "I wonder when happy time opens."

Her favourite pair of boots, which she insisted on keeping, paced the floor as the girl searched her mind for a string of rationality in this crazy ride, sneaking and hiding amongst the southwestern quadrant of Atmos. It was unlikely The Colonel sent his men after them, discouraged from their last encounter when the Dark Ace clumsily rescued her from potential slavery, and pondered who else was desperate enough to place a price on the man's head.

"Haven't you figured it out already?" he muttered from his resting spot. "It's Master Cyclonis."


	9. Only Love Can Break Your Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spontaneous ficlet. Written in ten minutes while I was listening to Neil Young. (2008)

If you asked him why he left, he'd merely gaze at you with blank, emotionless eyes. He gave no vocal reason for his betrayal, merely rolled the sunshine-yellow crystal in his right hand that rested on his lap.

"Bartender. Give me another one."

His physical appearance was unsettling. Smudges of dirt marked his hollow cheeks and fingerprints marred the tarnished helmet. Sitting in the corner of the room, none of the other regulars dared to approach the newcomer with the dry, desert eyes. He was a man possessed, consumed with a fierce inner demon that the locals dared not tangle with. Not even for the high price his jewel would fetch.

_Rogue._

No one was quite sure when he first arrived. The miners whispered amongst each other, huddled over the unpolished tabletops, and used the salt shaker as a makeshift microphone. Whoever held it had the right to speak.

"I say he's a murderer. No one comes in here without blood on their hands."

"A bounty hunter waiting for his last ride."

Whatever the reason, the rumours of the man's appearance spread to the rest of the village. More curious men came by the shady establishment to catch a glimpse of the shadow that possessed the darket corner of the saloon. When pressured to kick him out, the owner shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and hollered for his assistant to wait outside for the next shipment of beer. Terra Tundra ale.

The stranger stayed. Business increased when he was around - almost reached celebrity status - who was he to complain?

The drunken phantom only spoke when his glass was empty. He left early in the morning, before the cock crowed, and the milkman wondered if he was in cahoots with someone else in town. Sightings of a dark purple skimmer circulated amongst the children, whose loud whispers spread to their older sisters and passed on to their mothers, who them told their husbands that night.

He was here for a reason.

Or he was looking for something to stop the pain.


	10. Cascade

He left the room dark.

Dark Ace had just gotten back from wherever he came from, opened the door to their room quietly, and stripped off his outer clothes before heading to the adjacent bathroom for a long shower. Glancing over at Piper who remained asleep on the bed, he hung his dust-covered clothes over the back of a chair, but not before he hid a bulging rucksack underneath.

* * *

"Are you going to hurt me?"

"No. I'm not going to do anything to you."

"But why - why would you keep me -"

"In my profession, it is unwise to cross those who may be allies to you. Besides, I would like to extend an invitation to your resident Wallop for another eating contest I shall sponsor soon."

_(She grasped the undercurrent of the subtle-yet dangerous delegations The Colonel offered her, and decided to look at the cards she held in her hands.)_

"What do you want?"

"Information. I want to know what the Dark Ace is up to, who he corresponds with, and what sort of treasure he holds."

"And the crystal?"

_(The spider's eyes shone suspiciously, then turned his head in the other direction and signaled for one of his guards to arrange a suitable meal for the skinny girl. Give or take two hours, he expected the hapless ex-Talon to crash through one of his cherished stained-glass windows and demand her back.)_

"I never mentioned a crystal. I am sure you must be confused, but please understand I prefer to operate my business in a free world."

"I understand."

* * *

The sound of rushing water reached her ears and Piper's eyes snapped open; she had not been sleeping at all. The chair beckoned to her, luring her with a crooked finger.

She slipped out of bed. Searched his pockets for keys, blueprints, even fake identity papers - anything that might give her a clue where he disappeared off to each morning.


	11. Red Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to Cowboy Bebop and Mikahil Bulgakov's "The Heart of a Dog".

Repton looks at the posters plastered against the walls of the thieves' hideout and sneers. No scum worth their weight is interested in pin-money these days. The greenhorns huddle in groups of three or four at the tables, while the seasoned veterans pass each other in the halls, and discreetly transfer small scraps of paper between closed palms. Silent whispers into patient ears.

Master Cyclonis has connections to even the most obscure of cesspools, spreading her message to the far reaches of Atmos.

Spitz comes up behind him; his claws wrapped around two items he hands over to his elder brother. The former is a blown-up wanted poster, while the latter is a flyer that looks looks suspiciously like a poor imitation of the cover of a portfolio. Stretching out the papers, the lizard hisses and reads them both. Generic information. Big money. The traitor is better off dead.

* * *

_Acquitition:_ 'The Dark Ace' (real name undisclosed)  
_Age:_ 32  
_Nationality:_ Unknown 

Former commander of the Talons, ex-champion of Cyclonia. Deserter. Not a Sky Knight, but may be sympathetic to the party. Pilots a customized Talon Switchblade Elite, colour red, wields a double-handed long blade sword usually equipped with a red striker crystal. 

Tall 6'3"; lean, athletic shape. Sharp features with a pointed nose and chin. Ruthless. Murderer.  
(a) black hair  
(b) red eyes 

Last seen walking alone towards a Cyclonian military base camp on Terra Bluster. March 25, 8:49 pm. Weapon and skimmer missing. Wore a standard red and green Talon uniform. Do not engage in aerial battle. (underlined three times) Reward negotiable. Master hunters only. 

_Repton switches the pieces of paper and compares the drawing with the wanted poster. The latter is less flattering._

(there are puncture marks on the poster; Spitz's claws)  
(also obscene doodles)  
(near the bottom, someone even wrote in large, block letters: _FUCK YOU!!)_

_Bounty:_ 2.5 million woolongs 

(in heavy lettering) **Wanted Alive.**


	12. Ghost

_Let me hold your hand._

_Let me twirl you around the floor._

_Let me look into your eyes,_

_Let me love you more._

"You're one of the best things that's happened to me," he confesses, his eyelids weary with lack of sleep and heavy with drunk.

Piper nods automatically as she drags his feet along the dusty floor, the points of his boots digging small valleys in the ground. The man's been mumbling since their left the motel, and her shoulder blades ache terribly. More of a hindrance than a help, his mouth is an endless fountain of slurred words as they make another innocuous disappearing act from yet another ghost town.

"When this is over, you're going to leave me, aren't you?" Piper nods again and lifts him onto a chair in the repair shop. They're safe here; at least, she hopes so - the mechanic is a former Talon.

Seven days of personal experience, but the task is on easier than it was the first time. A grown man is still hard to carry.

"If I get all better, can I keep you?" Grins. Shows all his teeth and exhales a lungful of bad breath as Dark Ace topples over the swivel chair and falls into her arms. Coughing to get the stink out of her face, the girl stumbles backwards and settles leaving the man on the ground. Seeking warmth, his arms wrap around the metal bar that holds up the seat.

Smushes his face against his knee.

A long-suffering sigh escapes her lips. She's so tired. But there is more to do before she can catch some sleep, and one of them has to stay awake.

With a strange pang of regret, she opens the garage door, and heads towards the back of the motel, to retrieve her backpack and his sword.


	13. Sympathy for the Devil

_**I don't know who I am anymore.** _

_I could feel the anger rise up inside me with little reason._

I need help, I know I do. Even Ravess looks at me differently.

And Snipe. Snipe's stupid. But even he knows the limits of what I can do. Memo for later.

Didn't go to bed until eight in the morning. Slept the day away. I don't even check my mailbox anymore, I'm scared of what I'll find inside.

Nobody should be living like this. I guzzle beer like a fish. My pockets are loose.

So I took it. Make her hurt for the way she treated me.

She's just a kid.

**One day, maybe I'll look back at all of this and laugh. No, I'm not entitled to.**

_I've killed her. It was an accident._

When I grow up, I want to be a Sky Knight.

The world is coming to a close, and I want to be there for it. See everyone screaming, crying, laughing. I know what she's up to, and I'm a part of it. Nope, not anymore. She can take her sorry purple ass somewhere else. I've got my own problems to deal with.

_Master will never forgive me._

Sleep is always good.

 _ **Crying in the bathroom again.**_ Woke up to the stench of my vomit and sweat. Ravess was behind me, holding up my head as I reacquaint myself with the toilet seat. Tears and snot. Great. She's nice.

Wrote a letter to Piper finally. Started the telegraph with the words: "To my sweetheart..." Send it in the mail two weeks ago. I think. Maybe four months. Who knows, time is a blur when you can't even eat breakfast. Breakfast for margaritas. Oh look, a pen and some stamps. (Believe me, it wasn't for her.)

Guess I really did send that letter.

_Not._

**Have to get out of here. Gotta run.**

The desert sand tastes gritty in my mouth. Well, of course it does. There's purple paint underneath my fingernails. Thinking about growing out my hair to become unrecognizable. Been hiding out in the boonies for six months, living off side-jobs here and there. Guard dog. Even packing houses on Terra Gale.

I like it here the best.


	14. Picking Up Bad Habits

Humans, Merbs, and Wallop alike were shocked, their shoulders curved inwards in fear as their ears bled from the string of profanities that gushed out of the kitchen. They hung around in the hallway, out of Piper's sight, and cringed with each new colourful word.

Pots and pans banged loudly on the counters, they heard cabinets and drawers yanked open as Piper rearranged the eating utensils to her specific preference. Whose brilliant idea was it to put the plates on top of the cereal bowls? Why hasn't the blender been taken apart and cleaned? Did they think the forks and knives would take care of themselves? And for heaven's sakes! Close the bread box after you've made some toast!

Balling up her fists, the girl screwed her eyes shut and screamed like a boiling teapot. She was gone for maybe three weeks, and _this_ is what she comes home to?

Radarr clapped his paws over his long fuzzy ears as Aerrow commented on the obvious. "Uh, guys. Piper's really mad."

"Y'think?"

Stork raised his hand. "So... all those in favour of hiding out in the storage room until Armageddon arrives?"

"C'mon. Give her a couple of hours and she can't be that bad."

"Aerrow, buddy. You have a lot to learn about women."

Another shrill scream and Junko tapped his fingers together, looking embarassed. The other boys craned their necks upwards and silently asked the question in unison. _What did you do?_

"I might have forgotten to throw out the old juice... and left some empty containers in the fridge." 

They all winced.

"Remember guys, Piper's probably still really stressed from the whole ordeal or else she wouldn't be like this."

The blond snorted derisively. "Tell me about it. Girl's on a rampage. I think she picked up a few habits from the Dark Ace or she developed new ones. Piper took one look at the bathroom and _bam!_ Started swearing as high as the moon. You should have seen how _clean_ the place was after she'd finished with it. Totally creepy. Even the towels _sparkled."_


	15. Life in the Fast Lane

She didn't like the feel of his arms around her, physical contact made her nervous. Dark Ace's unrestrained laughter hurt her ears as they drove across the barren wilderness with nothing but cacti and old train tracks for company. Twenty minutes of riding and her throat was parched. Arid desert air devoid of moisture. The midday sun beat down on her dark skin. Dehydration.

Her supposed saviour was so overjoyed, so overwhelmed with himself that he let go of the handlebars and shot his fist into the air. Through her blue uniform, she could feel his sweat-stained skin and silently wished for the sky to rain. The engine roared when Dark Ace shifted the center of gravity and lifted the front wheel off the skyride. Show off.

"Hah! Did you see that, Piper? Not one blow on me or my baby. The way I glided across that waxed floor, right between The Colonel's legs... and the look on his face!"

The girl's heart beat wildly as her hands automatically clutched at his arm holding her in place. The skimmer reared on its hind wheel, performed wicked tricks and turns on the cracked ground. Kicked up a mighty dust storm.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Alarms were going off in her head. Dark Ace's mannerisms strongly reminded her of Finn's, and that wasn't always good.

"Do you think we could slow down a bit?" she hollered apprehensively.

"Why? There's nobody here to catch us."

"EXACTLY!"

Stork's prophecies of inevitable doom manifested itself when one of the tires bumped up against a jutting rock and the bike swerved out of control. Flipped over several times. 

Lurching forward, Piper felt Dark Ace's body envelop hers as they were caught up in the momentum, and yelped when the earth became the sky then became the earth again. Strong arms tightened around her waist, constricting her lungs, and felt her body physically lifted out of the seat and thrown onto the ground.

Luckily they sustained no major injuries - just shortness of breath. Pumped with adrenaline and perhaps a slight case of post-traumatic shock, the girl stared blankly at the man hovering above her. Completely winded.

And he _laughed._

"Oops."


	16. Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small nod to "The Princess Bride" here. And this chapter's in present tense.

Faroe yanks Dark Ace's head out of the water and allows the man a single breath before drowning his face once again. There are two buckets on the heavy metal table: one is ice-cold while the other is steaming hot. Piper peeks around the corner of the garage door, taking extreme precaution not to let her striking blue hair of her fingers show, and gnaws on her lower lip in sympaty. She is upposed to be sleeping, catching up on her rest before Dark Ace commands they leave again. But the screams of pain coming from the shop are too much of a temptation.

The mechanic frightens her a lot.

It's not in the way he treats her, not really. To the girl, he has been all smiles and hospitality. Welcomed her with open (motor oil. greasy) arms and ushered her into his cramped kitchen for flapjacks and bacon, along with a tall glass of milk.

"For the bones," said the man with the light chestnut hair. He grinned, and scratched the back of his neck. The Switchblade was almost done.

But now, witnessing Dark Ace's primitive method of alcoholic therapy, Piper cranes her head around the corner a little more to listen to their words. Not that she needs to, their conversation is as loud as day.

The Talon-turned-mechanic is ruthless in his delivery. One of another, he shouts into Dark Ace's ear for his stupidity. Bringing a girl into the equation to solve his mess. Leaving her alone in dirty motel rooms while he goes off drinking. Selling her to gangsters for pocket money. What an utter disgrace.

"Did you tell her you're sorry?"

_"No."_

"She deserves a lot better than to hang out with the likes of you, you pathetic son of a bitch. She should be with her friends, not half-starved in my shop!"

 _"I -_ (Piper can hear Dark Ace splutter and choke) - _I need her. Crystals."_

That evening, Piper feigns a deep sleep on the couch, hugging the thick blanket around her body, pulling it up to her chin. The men are sitting on chairs, drinking hot ginger water with honey, and she hears one of them get up.

"Have you heard from Snipe at all? Your sisters? _Ravess?"_

There is a tense pause in the air. Maybe some bad blood. The mechanic's voice is stern. Lecturing.

"I don't know your motives, Dark Ace. I don't _want_ to know them. I left Cyclonia because I'm a godless man, territory means nothing to me. But you're cut differently. You still have that loyalty. I'm not much older than you, but I can still tell."

Faroe's voice lowers to a whisper before both men turn their gaze towards their sleeping guest.

Piper pretends to snore and the mechanic picks up his speech again.

"I left my family because I wanted to be a free man. I left behind a good future for that. _When_ Master Cyclonis finally gets her claws on you and what you stole, how are you going to save yourself?"

"Easy. I trade."


	17. Hearth

Tuesday morning, Dark Ace sleeps in by accident.

Tuesday afternoon, he's sweating so bad he can sprinkle the entire desert terrs with his perspiration. He lifts tires for the mechanic, stacks them one over the other. Each tower is eighteen wheels high. Then, he takes them down, one at a time,, washes them clean with a worn brush, a bucket, and rough soap - the rubber dries quickly and he has to start another tower.

Wednesday, at the crack of dawn, Faroe kicks the Talon awake. Gives him a prairie oyster for breakfast to fight the shakes. Piper wakes up to the sound of booze going down the drain. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, the question dies on her lips as the older man stares at her hard.

Don't look. Don't ask.

Thursday evening, and Piper is feeling much healthier with the nourishing food her host makes. Tonight, she eats dinner alone and takes her plate filled with baked potatoes, steamed vegetables, and hard boiled eggs to the couch. Tunes in to the local radio.

The men are in the shop, training again.

The girl eats her food slowly, thoughtfully, chewing through every bite and makes sure to savour each delicious taste. Who knows what will happen tomorrow? Dark Ace might uproot her any second. Although hsi rigorous fitness schedule is made to benefit him, it is dictated by the other man.

Something about learning to fight again. Something about the bottle.

Piper wipes the last of the barbecue sauce with her finger and licks it clean. Extremely tasty. She laughs to herself when she realizes the mechanic has not served pork and beans yet.

Washes her plate in the sink. Leaves them to dry.

She pours herself a glass of water from the refrigerator since Dark Ace does not recommend drinking straight from the tap, and settles back down on the couch-makeshift bed and wraps the blanket around herself. Full and warm.

And is sleeping by the time the men return.


	18. The Fragrance of Magnolias

One body in exchange for another.

In her sleep, she dreams she will never see her family again. Claw-like hands grip her by the waist as she tries to hold onto a miniature of _the Condor._ A merciless laugh. Someone buries his face into the area between her shoulder blades, and mockingly kisses her back.

_The bidding for the Storm Hawk starts now._

It's the Colonel. He's made a deal with the Colonel.

 _Why my dear girl,_ the spider chuckles in his deep, refined accent, _I never thought I would see you again._

She is in the sky, her feet dangling in mid-air as the familiar aerial terrain grows smaller and smaller. Her betrayer is dragging her down to the earth, stealing her for his own nefarious purposes.

_Does this female mean anything to you, Dark Ace? Because she would fetch more than just a pretty price with such a pretty face. If you give her to me now, consider your debt repaid in full._

It isn't just a dream. Is it for real? The girl stirs on the couch and kicks the armrest. Her subconscious mind remembers. At home, there is an encrypted letter. A personal vacation with the face of a bold lie. She doesn't belong in the tundras, why did she come?

Back in the Colonel's abode, her amber eyes widen in shock. He wouldn't - he couldn't! Even a traitor such as he has some sort of moral code. The black haired man inspects his fingers before biting a hangnail on his left thumb.

_What about the principal interest? What about the cost?_

_Trivial necessities for a gentleman businessman like me. Easily taken care of, I assure you._

Dark Ace will never give her up. He promised. The scene changes and the brightly lit stucco walls melt into the dark grey caverns of the Cyclonian empire. The surrounding air is still hot, but not natural. Concentrated. Processed. He holds a fading yellow Zircon stone in one hand, the surface horribly latticed with peculiar markings, and grips Piper's upper arm in the other.

_Is this your payment for your errors? Why should I accept her._

_My apologies, my Master. I was in the wrong._

The girl topples forward. Piper's worst nightmares combine into one.

_Sold._


	19. Gideon's Bible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a referene to the Beatles song "Rocky Raccoon."

"Come on," the mechanic looked down his nose at his beaten opponent. "Get up and do it again."

Dark Ace snarled, chewed something nasty in his mouth and spat out a wad of blood on the dusty ground. He wiped his bleeding nose with the back of his hand, and smeared the rest on his clothes. Acknowledging the other man's skill, he picked up his staff and spread his feet slightly apart, his chest leaning forward. Defensive moves are not his forte, but he is horribly out of practice. If he went up against Master Cyclonis now, for sure he would die within minutes.

Gripping the metal bar with both hands, he is forced back as Faroe launched himself forward and attacked. There was a cold concentration in his opponent's eyes that used to belong to the black-haired man. The former Talon instructer aimed for his shins, his chest, before he whirled around and smashed the pole into the back of his knees. Dark Ace cried out in pain. Fell to the ground. Immobilized again.

Once upon a time, the Dark Ace was legendary. Aggressive. His moves were sharp and fast; and no Sky Knight he battled, whether it was in the air or on the ground, could beat him. Victory was inevitable. But that arrogance built up over the years and he no longer fought to survive, to prove something to the Sky Council. Then he changed. He fought for fun, relied on edgy taunts backed with the strength of his sword. 

But with his mind reeling from alcoholic withdrawal and guilt, there is little glory left when the previous champion of Cyclonia has to relearn the basics of combat training. He was in the prime of his life, and nothing could be more humiliating.

The truth hurts like a bitch.


	20. Clementine

At home, Piper feels more morose than the time she left the fugitive Talons. 

She is crankier, more irritable and pays attention to the most minute of accidents. The scrape on Finn's elbow might have been avoided if the sharpshooter was more attentive to the pointed tip of his arrows, and Radarr might not be feeling so sick if he hadn't gorged himself on the cookies. Preventing cuts and bruises were her current obsession, along with her compulsive tendency to keep everything clean and tidy.

She is mother to the extreme.

So she tells the guys that her change in mood is just a side effect to her wild adventures in the badlands, and they believe her. It feels awful to lie to them twice ina row, although it is clear they know her supposed trip to visit some distant relatives is all a ploy. Aerrow is just glad to see her safe. They trust her too much, and it eats at her conscience.

Inside her backpack, there is a tin of canned meat, an empty flask of water, a change of clothes and some maps. Reminders of her time in the tundras. Guilt overcomes her, and her mind flashes back to her last night spent at the shop. There is a roasted pig on a spit, a man playing the violin, and a crackling campfire.

The first and last dance.

Piper looks down at her hand, and frowns at the yellow crystal she stole.


	21. Sweet Baby James

_You and I, we don't go well together._

He guess it was to be expected. She never really had a reason to stick around anyways. Not with him.

_So, you sent that letter. What do you want?_

He didn't have a plan in mind. All he wanted was someone to listen to him. Nothing was lucid at that time; he was too far gone to think beyond the next week.

_Are you looking for protection? Security?_

She knew that he was a traitor, almost all the Sky Knights did.

_You're going to kill yourself doing that._

Damn her sex. Damn all women. They always played him for a sucker.

_The white blouse and the blue checkered skirt she wore when he danced with her._

"Faroe!" he roared. "Where's my goddamn blade?"

_He even cut his hair for the occasion. Trimmed his sideburns to perfection._

"I'm not your keeper. Look in your mother-fucking room!"

_Why is it grown men always seemed more genteel around a lady?_

"It's not there. That little bitch probably took it too."

_She wore a studded belt around her waist and cute brown shoes to match. He wore something ridiculous that reminded him of a mariachi suit._

"Never mind. I found it."

_She smelled like... he didn't know. Piper reminded him of desert flowers and open air._

The mechanic appeared in the doorway in full professional regalia, his hands inked with oil and grease. Nodding at the Talon, he asked bluntly.

"What'cha gonna do when you find her?"

Dark Ace snarled and banged his fist down onto the middle of the bed. The frame shuddered. Betrayed again.

"I'm gonna kill her."


	22. Back to the House that Love Built

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I need to remember what I came here for.  
> Love or mercy keeps me at your door."
> 
> (Tito and Tarantula, _Desperado_ soundtrack)

Once the anger subsides all that is left is a hard shell, similar to that of a rough diamond. A diamond ready to kill.

Only three hours until departure - until he leaves this place and goes after her.

In the bathroom, Dark Ace places his hands on either side of the porcelain sink and stares hard into the mirror. There are slight bags under his eyes, but overall, he is in good shape and better than several months before.

He turns the faucet on, one knob at a time, and the plumbing squeaks with the water pressure. Cupping his hand underneath the flow, he splashes two handfuls over his face and mouth; strokes his jaw and inspects the white scar just underneath his chin. Stickinng his hand under the faucet, he runs his right hand through his black hair while the other shuts the water off.

The man is a Talon again. He wears the uniform.

Patting his face dry with the towel, he yanks open the door and heads towards the spare bedroom. When he turns the corner and the couch appears at the end of the hallway, his brow dips into a grown and his lips resemble a taut line of disdain.

Sheaths his sword. Tugs at the looseness of his clothes and is thankful for his mediocre sewing skills.

Puts on his metal headpiece and finally feels complete. Like a man adjusting his belt, slipping the latch into a new hole, the title ( _I am the Dark Ace_ ) rolls around thick and heavy on his tongue. The man in the mirror is who he is meant to be.

He supposes all the hours of sweating on the hard, red dirt is the reason why his body is no longer polluted with toxins. Maybe there is a lesson to learn from all his running and hiding from terra to terra.

First on the docket is figuring out whether the girl has reunited with her friends. He can't imagine her stealing someone else's skyride so he assumes that someone is helping her. Heliscooters are not worth much, but one that belongs to a Storm Hawk might be worth a crown or two, depending on the buyer.

Dark Ace's lips curl into a sinister smile.

The Colonel better shut all his windows. There's a storm a'comin.


	23. Sand, Ink, Blood

The crystal is no longer on _the Condor_. The Zircon stone is with Piper - and as fate would have it, the girl is no longer on the ship.

Dark Ace pushed the red-haired boy aside and kicked open all the ship's doors until he came across her personal quarters. Started shouting something about two handwritten letters and immediately started tearing up her bed. His gloved hands threw the pillows and blankets unceremoniously against the wall; he uprooted the mattress just to make sure she didn't hide his messages under there.

Finn shoved past Aerrow and started shouting at the intruder. They only let him on board because he handed over his sword and swore not to inflict any harm. One would assume destruction of personal property counted as part of the deal.

"Aha! Found it!" Two letters were hidden inside the pillowcase, and both stink of smoke and gin. The first is a whiskey-induced confession about a lost love, (when the boys weren't looking he stuffed it down the front of his shirt), and the second one is a message for her.

_Piper,  
Meet me at the Yellow River Motel on Terra Saharr two weeks from today. I have some information you will find useful. Come alone or the deal is off.  
-Dark Ace._

The blond gripped his shoulder and yanked him around, demanding payment for the damage. The Talon ignored him, took two steps, and stopped right in front of Aerrow. A grown man against a teenage boy - the different in height and body mass is intimidating.

The young leader didn't back down. Dark Ace smirked. How typical. They're allies for now, but only until the crystal is reclaimed and the boys get their precious navigator back.

Aerrow spoke.

"Where is Repton taking her?"


	24. Deuces are Wild

If she's hurt, he could care less. All he wants is the stone and his freedom.

He ignores the unhappy looks on their faces as he preps his machine and hears the familiar purr of her engine. His sky ride is in better condition than theirs; she is bigger and better and has more experience. However, the downside to having a customized Switchblade is the weight. While his vehicle can withstand violent shocks in battle, she requires more care when riding across slippery surfaces or executing complicated maneuvers in wake of the young Sky Knight, Aerrow.

The tension in the air is palpable, but not thick as fog. The Storm Hawks surround him, their own rides roar obnoxiously and he is sure the blonde is in need of a new muffler (goddamn kids, do they want _everyone_ to know where they are?) because the exhaust noise is insufferable. The desert and canyons are a natural home to bounty hunters; they need all the quiet they can get.

"Um, where are we going?" The Wallop scratches his ear and tries to hide the fact he just asked the Dark Ace an indirect question. Not that he minds; the less he has to talk to these teenagers, the better. He will not tell them where they are headed, at least, not yet. He doubts any treachery on their behalf, but it's better to be cautious. God knows he hasn't been cautious enough if it was this easy for Repton to find him.

Well, _her._

"I believe Repton thinks I'm going to rescue your little friend." They all deploy their wings and take to the air. Aerrow and Finn fly slightly ahead of him, flanking his sides, while the Wallop hangs around in the back.

"So it's a trap."

Dark Ace rolls his eyes at the obvious. Of course it's an ambush, what other purpose does the girl serve other than bait? As much as the lizard might be tempted to snack on her bones or turn her over to Master Cyclonis, the bounty on his head is much more alluring; not to mention the bragging rights his former colleague will obtain once word gets out Repton single-handedly dispatched the traitor to Cyclonia. Piper's capture is just her bad luck.

He imagines clutching the crystal in his hand. Somehow, the warm, yellow shine doesn't seem all that enticing now.

The blonde ("Finn!" he exclaims, "My name is Finn!" _Right._ ) drifts closer to his right side.

"So, I heard you have major issues with tonics. You can't handle strong waters. Huh."

If he wasn't under oath, he might have punched the boy. Dark Ace grinds his teeth.

"What makes you say that?" That little tramp. Spreading his shame and embarrassment far and wide, babbling her little mouth against the shape of their ears. And to think she remained with him all that time - dragging his drunken ass from one motel to the next, dunking his head in bathroom sinks and all that jazz.

"Because when Piper came back, she stank of gin."

Well, this was news. Trying to look nonchalant, he slides the question under the radar. (Remember, she means nothing to you.)

"She didn't tell you anything?"

The Storm Hawk throws his hands in the air in exasperation. "No way, man! That girl;s lips were tighter than the stick shoved up Harrier's ass!"


	25. Maverick

Every bloody thing that went wrong in his life was beccause of women. And crystals. He might have added booze into the mix - only that the amber liquid didn't provide such a blessed liberation that made the hours go by like minutes and made his mind go numb with pleasure. A sweet and dark intoxication.

In the rare moment his mind was almost (but never truly) lucid, water leaked from his eyes from the great pressure in his head. His pulse would dance to the sound of a beating drum and he'd tear apart the motel room until the landowner came a'knockin at his door and throw him out onto the streets, chucking his burlap satchel over his head.

No good, low-life, spirit guzzling non-conformist.

Spitting out sand and dust, he roller over on the dirt and hauled himself up over to the side of the saloon. Walked backwards all the way to his skimmer hidden in the butcher's back lot, and hurled into a bush at the thought of raw buffalo hanging from meat hooks.

He had a mighty fine death wish for carrying out his unspoken threat to Master Cyclonis. If only he hadn't dipped his fingers into the local bar with a Talon he couldn't remember the name of, he might have avoided the temper tantrums that followed with addiction. However, he smirked to himself as he pulled on the sliding door of the meat house and wondered why it wasn't opening.

The Talon was court marshaled three weeks later for drug possession. Dark Ace caught in the crossfire. He should've known.

Turning around, he pulled on the door and it magically opened. The overwhelming smell of meat struck his nostrils; mixed with the liqueurs he had for dinner and well - you know.

Crystals and women and wine. Hate them and love them. Can't live without them.

All he knew about the Zircon crystal was that it really wasn't a crystal at all. A mineral stone enhanced by Master Cyclonis to help reduce crystal consumption. It was all an experiment to date, and the largest piece of rock to have survived his master's curious tinkering. He had been jealous, without a core reason why, and took out his anger on the inanimate object - stole it and left her.

Stupid, really.

At least the zircon was pretty, in an obnoxious sort of way. It was a mild yellow, a blend between orange and red, and if he held it against the light, staring into the facets reminded him of Cyclonia. The wastelands. Furnaces. Head and dust. Deserts and canyons. A girl with brown skin. A highly annoying laugh.

It always came back to the women. _Always._


	26. Heart of Gold

A man can survive for weeks without food, but he cannot live for several days without water.

PIper presses a damp cloth against his head; his forehead is so hot that the cold water becomes lukewarm in a matter of minutes and she has to re-soak it again. He prefers it this way, the benevolent solitude of the hotel room, the cherry-blossom rays of sun peeping through the blinds, the pattern of shadows on her concerned face.

She talks too much; talks about all his mistakes, his lack of control and his display of recklessness in the bar last night. Sighing, as if she does not know what to do with such a big child, she reaches behind her back and applies some medicinal balm to his lips. Piper. The girl who is always prepared.

He tries to tell her 'thank you' but his tongue lolls around helpless in his mouth like flopping salmon on the rocks. Dark Ace pats all the sections of his purple face and winces at the tenderness of his skin. Ah, so that's why he can't speak. His upper lip is swollen.

"That must hurt something awful," she says, twisting the cap back on the salve and removes the washcloth from his brow. As she squeezes the excess water out, the droplets tinkle in his ear, similar to wind chimes as they hit the bottom of the hand basin. Maybe he's still drunk. It's the sweetest sound in the world.

"I guess I'm stuck with you all day."

Twenty-four hours alone with her. The trade-off isn't so bad.


	27. Gunslinger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finn gets to try some Steve Buscemi style

A hot wind blows tumbleweeds down the road; they bounce on the hard dirt and roll over in the air. The rattle of chains as a young man hitches up his belt and walks into a bar, tipping his hat off at all the scum inside, and pats two of them on the back as if they were familiars.

"Bartender! Give me some spicy water!"

Unimpressed, the bartender throws down his rag and sloppily pours some beer into a mug without taking his eyes off the blond. With a thunk, he places the drink in front of him.

The boy drinks, smacks his lips, and loudly delcares it's the best beer in the world. All the other customers, who have turned around in their seats to glare at the newcomer, sneer with the gleam of murder in their eyes. Several of them stand up and flex tobacco-stained fingers at their hips.

"I'm serious man! This is some serious shit!"

One patron, who harbours a deep resentment towards folks who can't abide to the code, grips the boy's shoulder and squeezes it hard. The whelp whimpers and points at the other man's hand.

"Might not want to do that. I've got a bruise the size of a grapefruit and besides - you'd want to keep your hands to yourself. Er, not like _that_ \- but I'd sure have my drink then book it out of here real soon."

The bartender interjects the possibility of a future brawl with a black, curled eyebrow. "Why's that?"

"Because, he's here. He's coming. A buddy of mine barely made it out of the last terra he shredded. No one else was left alive."

The bartender takes away Finn's mug even though it is still half full. All of a sudden, the rumours start smelling true. The boy frowns and tries to take the beer back. A towel thwacks his eager fingers.

"Tell me who's coming."

The loss of the drink affects the blond more than his news. He's just here to pay his last respects to an old hypothetical friend, and possibly scare the crap out of these scumbags. The change of clothes and the quick scuffle with Aerrow, in addition to the bruise from Dark Ace makes his story all the more believable.

Suckers.

"You don't know?" He slams his palm upon the counter and laughs heartily. Resentful man looms over him, looking ready to strangle his white privileged neck.

"Nuh-huh. Like I said earlier, you'd better keep your hands for when that bastard gets here. Well, thanks guys, but I think I'm gonna head on out." He reaches into hsi pocket and hands the bartender a note that is far too generous. "Oh really, don't thank me. I'm just here, saving your lives before the Dark Ace whips all of your asses."

Silence. 

Heavy breathing.

A scrawny man, so frail a cactus needle could defeat him, raises a shaky hand and whispers to Finn.

_"The Dark Ace?"_

"Yeah."

"But... he's _dead._ "

Dead drunk is what he means. The blond swivels around on the bar tool. Leans forward and stares into his water yellow eyes. Gone is all the horseplay, the lick for a stiff drink. His voice resonates like steel as he utters the feared name.

"Yeah, that's right. The Dark Ace. He's in this quadrant, he's coming, and _he's collecting names."_


	28. Mirage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This disgression is the result of binge-listening to The Gipsy Kings. More rumba flamenca than western, but imaginary!Piper is definately older.

_Red. I like this colour. Maybe it looks good on me and I should wear it more often, but never in front of you._

_You pretend to stand in the shadows of this room, but I can see the light settling upon your shoulder. I can trace the line that starts at the nape of your neck, just below your hairline, all the way down the muscles of your long back. I stop just above the hips, too embarrassed to go any further._

_Unlike you, I love the light. I'm standing in it right now. And I know you know you can't keep your eyes off me._

_You're moving._

_If I said your gait was reminiscent of a panther's, would you get offended? Because that's what you are, a cat. A large, ebony feline with five-inch claws and a mouth salivating for raw meat. Hot blood. A dangerous, moody man. A man with no home._

_The tempo of this room, this song, spins faster and it makes me careless. Rotation. Gyration. It's the tambourine, it's the castanets. It's the injustice that I am affected and you are not. There is a growing blush on the apple of my cheeks as I remain in the white hotness of the light, while you stay cool in the dark._

_I have never danced before. I don't want to be the next little bird to kiss your mouth._

_Our bodies move closer as the three guitars strum quicker. Our difference in height is apparent; I barely reach the line of your shoulder._

_Is that a problem? Tell me it isn't._

_Sweat is rolling down your skin, covers your sideburns when your raise my hand high above my head and twist me around. I can't be afraid because I know who you are. Your hand is on my hip, and my leg wraps around your waist. No inhibition. I pull your neck closer to my face as your fingers slide down my thigh and strike the back of my knee._

_Tell me, what kind of woman would have the courage to fall in love with you?_

_Could I be that woman?_

_Your breath sears my skin as you bend me over and the tips of my blue hair brush the hardwood floor. Warmth pools in my stomach as your red eyes graze an imaginary line up my chest before you crouch over and whisper into my delicate ear._

"No, you could never be her."


	29. Jill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewatched _Once Upon a Time in the West_ before writing this chapter. It remains my favourite Western to date.

_She stole his heart and branded it hers with a red hot iron poker. Marked him forever, and forever is a long stretch of the stars for someone inexperienced in love._

_He leaned over her; an ungloved hand caressed her thick, auburn hair and marveled at the unbelievable softness of it. It must take her a long time to look pretty, even if she did fix herself up for someone who wasn't him._

_He never felt so deeply about anyone before, never cared so strongly. Feelings drowned in a well of emotions so pure and clear it actually hurt._

_"I could make you a widow, you know."_

_Her dark eyes painted with purple shadow smiled up at him as she touched his cheek fondly. He always was her favourite, he knew that. The world did funny, cruel things to her. In time, those same things would happen to him._

_"Don't do that, darling. You know I won't be going anywhere."_


	30. Massacre

A Captain several years his senior saluted him in the proper manner. Stating his name, he fell into place behind the Dark Ace as the young Talon parted the crowds with his domineering presence.

"Did anyone survive, Captain?"

The officer shook his head. "No, sir. We've only just retrieved their bodies from the wreckage."

Pulling back the tent flap, Dark Ace stepped into the makeshift shelter with his guide in tow. In the middle of the rectangular room were five long tabbles with five bodies. His mouth felt dry like stuffed cotton.

"What did the doctor say?"

"They'll start conducting the autopsies once they have your permission."

His boots made crunching sounds on the gravel as he looked at the faces on the tables, one by one. Funeral biers, all of them. Death could not wipe the hope from their features. In their last moments of battle, their faces retained vestiges of their personalities, and he could identify each one. He was brave, she was foolish, and the third was routinely optimistic. He stopped at the last two.

"Leave us."

"Yes, sir."

Alone. He passed a weary hand over his eyes and let out a great sigh. Sank down to his knees, and pressed his helmet against the metal table. Wore his riding gloves. The team was found in the Wastelands, and he was contacted right away. But this improvised room felt cold.

The minutes sighed and he finally stood up. His shoulders sagged with years of unwanted weight when his fingertips connected with the back of her hand. In that small, apologetic gesture, all her worries transferred onto him.

Her eyes were closed and her cheeks were stained with the dark blush of dried blood. He searched her face for signs of forgiveness. Strands of blackened, matted hair cracked under the leather when he pushed them away from her pallid face. Skin so white it looked brittle. His thumb pad brushed against the swell of her lips and he felt the sharp pain of a lover as an overwhelming sadness pervaded the air.

Her head lolled to the side where the last body lay, as if she were reaching for him, longed to hold him for the eternity in the dark. She was asking for the absolution of her soul from the husband whom she had taken for granted. The look on her face had a name, and it was called sorrow.

Something inside of him fractured and broke. He dropped her hand, allowed her write to fall hard against the metal surface, and walked out.

He was the other man after all.


	31. A Dimly Lit Room

He wakes up to the sound of male laughter in the hallway, their boots click along the floorboards as they pass the partially-secluded room without glancing inside. Finn and Aerrow. Their chuckles eventually die down.

Lying on a bed, the injured man attempts to sit up but a light pressure on his chest persuades him to back down. A sweet face, soft like the dawn, greets him.

"Piper?"

"Yes?"

She places one hand over his stomach as she props her chin up on his chest. He thinks someone must have slipped him some crazy pills, for there is no reason for all of this to be real. The female Storm Hawk is touching him willingly; it is unheard of. In an attempt to throw off potential gestures of affection, he remembers she possesses the now useless stolen crystal. It might be pleasant to touch her, but she will have to act first. Lies make him tired.

He whispers. "What are you doing here?"

She smiles. Concerned. "Looking after you."

There is an unfathomable look in her tangerine eyes, and the faint line on her brow reads like a sentence to a question he already knows the answer to. Reasons of anger, hatred, and betrayal. But Repton is gone, his alcoholism is cured ( _please, let it be cured_ ), and she is safe. Where will he go now? Home is on the horizon, but he is not ready to go back yet.

"Are you here to kill me?" she asks solemnly, and buries her face into the crumpled sheets. Inhales deeply. He pretends she stayed with him all night. Raises a gloved hand, flexes his digits, and strokes the line of her jaw. The word _tenderly_ , comes to mind, and Piper marvels at the bottomless mystery that is the Dark Ace. For once, she does not recoil at his touch. No longer does he stink of gin. Hiw words, her answer, comes easily. Everything is done; the goodbyes are all that's left.

"No." His fingers comb through her hair as his other hand brings her closer. Her lip is worrying, and he harbours the temptation to kiss her. "No, Piper. I'm not angry anymore."


	32. Searching for Home

Like the desert yearns for water, he will come back to her. 

Master Cyclonis has long since forgiven him, and eagerly awaits news of his arrival or capture. But bygones will be bygones, and the moment Dark Ace steps upon the red dirt of Cyclonian soil he will be thrown into jail for a limited amount of time. Just enough to make an example of her power and a warning to those who should fall astray and bury their miseries in less than desirable conpulsions.

Mathematics and sheer numbers are not enough to wage a war, sharpness of mind and keen wit are her strongest weapons. 

She calls Ravess into her antechamber and the pink-lipped Talon heeds her mistress's call. The commander kneels in front of the young girl with violent eyes and pale skin.

"Have you heard from Snipe yet?"

They are not sisters, but it is their concern for a singular man that brings them closer together. The older woman's voice betrays affection when she lowers her right hand from her heart and stands up. His presence is sorely missed; despite his shortcomings and previous lapses in judgement, he is still Cyclonia's champion.

"I've heard nothing, Master Cyclonis." Nothing from Snipe, the last man to see him - possibly the last man to contact him since his disappearance.

"Anything from Repton?"

Again, Ravess gives her answer. "No, not yet."


	33. Bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homage to The Eagles, their song _Desperado_ , and Spike Spiegel.

There are two types of men to look out for. One makes a good girl go wild, while the other makes a woman want to tame his heart.

Both are equally dangerous, but pay heed to the latter.

( - Because an independant woman can make it on her own. My best friend's older sister's got the story, and she's livin' like a fancy gentlewoman up in Clearwater now. Got herself ten bags of gold, a carriage, and a dowry. Some lawyer wants to marry her, and any man who can get that lady to take on his name is a lucky lad.)

You want to be that woman, not the other one.

Mama always said don't look into their eyes. Not for one bit.

And Papa always said he'd rightly skin the hide off any man that tried to walk his daughter home.

Because it's the Devil's work to look into those black eyes of a wayward man, shameless and proud with a cold past to spare. You can't see it, but he's carrying baggage on that sun-tanned back of his, and his trigger finger is always at the ready. Men like that got death on their minds, and no good thing is going to make him stay.

And never, _never_ take the hand of a Desperado.

Maybe he'll sweet talk you and the like out of the saloon, a place where a gal like you got no place bein' at this time of night. Maybe he'll take up the old guitar in the corner, and play out a melancholy tune that gets all the patrons roaring for more ale to work up the tears of a life long past.

If you see him on the side of the road, tie your bonnet fast and turn your dainty chin the other way. Pretend you don't see his hitchhiker's thumb calling out for someone. Not the way the wind weaves through his unkempt hair, or that sardonic smirk on his face. It isn't you he's wanting, dear. Don't be takin' on his mantle. Turn away. Go on home. Forget everything like it was the dust.

They call him the Ace of Spades for a reason.

Don't look into those eyes, red eyes that stare blankly into the sunless void. A face that fears no future. Ten years ago, three years ago, one day ago -

Don't fall in love.

(The first woman he's loved is six feet under the ground. The first nail driven into his coffin. He was a youthful and arrogant soil. The latter remained.)

Don't fall in love.

(The second woman he devoted himself to tried to kill him. Stole something of hers he had no right stealing, and out of jealousy or spite, he ran away with it. She's got a heart like a blood diamond.)

_Don't fall in love. ___

__It may be raining, but there's a rainbow above you._ _

__(He wakes up to the sound of male laughter in the hallway- )_ _

__You better let somebody love you. (Don't be that woman.) You better let somebody love you. ( _I want to be that woman._ ) You better let somebody love you- (I want to be _that_ woman...)_ _

__"Piper?"_ _

__"Yes?"_ _

___Before it's too late._ _ _


	34. Crossroads

In the middle of the main road, in an abandoned part of a mining town that has long since exhausted its main source of economic supply, two steel-toed boots squared off against a pair of long and sharp lizard claws.

Behind one of the combatants is a maid, just a hair's breadth away from nineteen years of age. Her mouth's gagged - hands and feet tied. But she's not scared of her captor. Something else is the source of her indigestion.

Repton hauled Piper to her feet and dangled her in front of the other man like a rack of tender lamb.

"If you want the girl, you'll have to get passt me firsst."

The man snorted.

"I only came for the crystal."

His eyes met hers and in that flash of a moment, he told her she had nothing to fear from the Talon.

Piper felt like laughing, her eyes sparkled like jewels underneath the bright, hot sun. Of course he had gone to her squadmates for help; of course he would track her down. Fear for her life was the least of her troubles.

It was what her heart yearned for while she was away that worried her next.


	35. Call Me, Call Me

He wants to tell her, _"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart."_

Instead, he chucks her chin patronizingly and feels the runway of age stretch between them. Her tangerine eyes are wide with youthful realization, and he reconizes the symptoms of a young girl star-struck with a crush. As much as this whole affair has been fun - and he uses that word sarcastically - the dream is ending and it's time to wake up with the barren and bitter dawn.

And Piper wants to say something to make him stay. Not for long, but just for a little while. She wants to know if he is all better and her knuckles tremble when she thinks about him with the bottle again.

He stands up and shuts the door with a well-aimed foot while she remains seated on the rumpled bed. Dark Ace arches his back twive, and rummages through the backpack hanging over the seat of a wooden chair in the corner. Memories of a time not so long ago weave along the upper rafters of the room like smoky curls from a burnt-out candle. It smells sweet and fills her lungs with a feeling akin to regret.

Gloved hands tear open her travel bag, and retrieve the yellow crystal inside. Drained of its power, his bargaining chip is lost in addition to a maimed and temporarily incapacitated Talon commander with a forked tongue.

He sighs and Piper offers a meek apology to stave off the twisting and turning in her gut when he shuts the blinds. The room is dark, and a shiver runs up her spine with a different type of blindness.

"Sorry about the crystal."

He sighs again as if he did not hear. She licks her lips and tries again, but he speaks and his tone of voice leaves no room for further questions.

"Forget it. It ran out of juice some time ago." The stone already began to fade before she took it and left him with the mechanic.

"Dark Ace-"

But he snaps his fingers sharply to shut her up; twists the pale crystal between his fingers to secretly stare at her reflection mirrored in the lightly coloured facets. He will never get used to his name on her tongue. It reminds him too much of honey for a parched man like himself.

She might want him to join the Storm Hawks, change his ways and become a good man. He can see it in her face, the hunch of her spine, but he knows the man she sees is not the man he is. Give it some time, maybe a few months, and she'll start to regret her decision.

He drops his hand and sneers at her. "Forget it, girl. You're not my type."

And Dark Ace watches her hopes crumble like a faulty tower of rocks.


	36. Expectations

So much to do. So much wasted time.

Secretly, he's proud of her for not giving into fear. For walking past his walls. Proud she is one of the few individuals who is able to see his vulnerable side, and yet afraid for that same reason. Every once in a while, his fingers twitch for a drink and his stomach grumbles at odd times in the night. The shakes come.

The Storm Hawks haven't left yet. Something about wanting to check out the terrain and the old mining caves. That's fine by him; let those kids have their fun. If Master Cyclonis wants nothing to do with this ghost town, who was he to deny the curiousity of a couple of nosy brats.

 _She_ goes with them. _She_ doesn't cry when he turns her down and inside out.

So he relaxes in his coveted room, stares at the ceiling and waits for his arm to jeal.

She doesn't know it, but her wish is already granted.

 _She_ is his.

And what is his, he will never forget.


	37. What You Deserve

Two packages to be sent to Terra Cyclonia via railway.

Junko's mighty brow furrows in questionn when Aerrow gives the go signal, and humbly asks whether it is humane to stuff the leader of the Raptors inside a burlap mail bag. It's covered in all sorts of postage stamps before it reaches its final destination.

Finn snickers. Of course it's appropriate, someone so hardworking as Repton deserved a vacation. He'll visit as many terras as possible before he reaches Master Cyclonis's front door. Lucky guy.

The redhead turns towards Dark Ace. Silently gains the Talon's clear approval with a single arched brow and a wry smile.

"Go ahead, Junko. You know what to do."

The Wallop's arms bulge, showing off his massive strength with the rather hefty weight. He starts swinging the bag around his head and once he gains the correct momentum, lets it fly right into one of the train's mail cars. The whistle blows loud and sharp. 

"If you say so, Aerrow. MAIL HOOOOOO!"


End file.
